and we'll weather the storms together
by Nayuki-Bunny
Summary: Sure, they save the world- or toss it into chaos, in Jack's case- but they're kids, too. Believe it or not, they forget sometimes./ twenty-five drabbles; Xiaolin
1. no place like home

**and so dandelion-heart and I pair up again for another drabble fest! this time it's for a childhood love of mine, Xiaolin Showdown. when the two of us heard that it was getting a reboot, we rewatched the series and ended up loving the show even more! **

**this is meant to be a collection of instances exploring Christy Hui's wonderful universe, and will delve into both the Xiaolin and Heylin sides. I hope you stick around :)**

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_;no place like home (*11)_

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Kimiko had almost instantly claimed the room closest to the door. The boys had entered to find her belongings heaped in the first stall, towering so precariously that they feared it might topple the other dividing screens.

She'd spoken up before they could, coolly challenging their slack-jawed stares. "It's for your guys' own good," she started, "because I _will _take longest in the bathroom, because of feminine emergencies, because I might get fed up at times and have to incinerate something."

Such logic had effectively ended any other arguments. That and her tone of voice. The one that clearly stated "that is that."

The boys still made a silent pact to test how far they could push it.

Raimundo scored the second-closest stall through sheer cunning. At least, that was what he liked to say. He'd really only dumped one of Kimiko's fruity-smelling lotions in a gooey heap on the floor.

And so the pact was tested for the first and last time.

The sickly-sweet smell was enough to dissuade anyone else from calling dibs, and so a singed Raimundo was free to scrub the floor clean and think that maybe it hadn't been the smartest idea, after all.

Clay and Omi were left to arm-wrestle for the third room. That fight ended before it could even begin. Omi liked to pretend he conceded. Everyone knew better.

And so they settled in. It was anything but smooth, though. There was a lot of scrambling for the bathroom.

("Kimiko, GET OUT!"

"IF YOU KNOCK THE DOOR DOWN WHILE I'M STILL IN HERE-"

"This is gettin' longer than a polka-dancin' polecat party-"

"My fellow monks! Exhibit discipline!")

Sometimes, there was sabotage.

("Raimundo. Did you hide my hat?"

"I don't know. Did I? Ask Kimiko—she's got so much crap in her room that I think she's a hoarder."

"A _what_? You palmed my Goo Zombies game!"

"You scratched my surfboard!"

"What about my hat?"

"My fellow monks! Exhibit detachment!")

Mealtimes were always interesting.

("You're really packin' on the pounds there, Raimundo partner."

"That's rich, coming from you."

"…An' what's that supposed to mean?"

"J-just that you're really… ah… big? In a good way…"

"Boys! You'll flip the table-!"

"My fellow-"

"STAY OUT OF THIS, OMI!")

And it went on. And on, and on, as Dojo told Master Fung, who didn't seem particularly concerned.

Because children tend to bond in foreign places and foreign situations. And that's really all they were, underneath their power and strength: children.

("Hey. Somethin' up, lil' lady?"

"I'm alright, it's just… no, I'm not. I'm… kind of homesick."

"…Me too."

"We all are, Kim. Who wouldn't be with mats instead of beds…"

"You'll become accustomed to it. Never fear, Kimiko."

"…Thanks, Omi."

"Ho ho! How emotionally delicate women are- AUGH!")

None of them really remember when it happened. But it doesn't really matter, because when they realize it, it's simply right.

"We're home!" they chorus to Master Fung, jumping off of a shrinking Dojo.

"Welcome back," he smiles, watching them rush past.

And that's all it needs to be.

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	2. indecent proposal

_;indecent proposal (*7)_

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"No."

"I think it's an idea to consider. One that could… benefit us both."

"No."

"You would think, you know, just looking at me, that-"

"-That you are indeed a witch of very little brain, one that might not understand that she should cease her efforts immediately."

Wuya let out a huff of impatience, tossing a lock of vivid hair over her shoulder. Chase Young, as wonderfully masculine and evil as any witch could desire, was proving to be insufferably irritable. As always.

He was seated on his throne and staring pointedly away from her, his elegant features slack with disinterest. Wuya sighed. She supposed that only someone with a death wish, or maybe Jack Spicer, would bother trying to sway any opinion of his.

But Wuya was a woman of persistence. And a Heylin witch, which helped.

"Come on, think of all the havoc we could wreak together," she wheedled, drawing out the words. She fluttered her eyelashes for good measure, but Chase didn't respond, let alone spare her a glance.

She stretched backwards, arching her back and letting the hem of her skirt ride up. A sidelong look informed her that Chase still wasn't paying attention. Instead, he had now occupied himself with the wildcats lounging at his feet. Shifting with a scowl, she cleared her throat, smoothing her hand up the curve of her hip and dragging the fabric further upward.

Chase still didn't yield, seemingly absorbed in stroking the mane of a particularly grim-faced lion. It was in this moment that Wuya wondered if Chase had forgotten how to register emotion. Or recognize opportunity, in all its sexy, leggy glory, when it was practically throwing itself at him.

She straightened indignantly. There were far too many mortals who would scramble over each other to be in such position, and then there was Chase Young. An old man who would rather tend to his cats.

A very old, enticing, deliciously diabolical man.

Wuya got to her feet, sashaying over to lean against his throne. Her voice was a throaty purr. "Chase-"

"Wuya!" he snapped, whipping around with flashing amber eyes to seize her outstretched hand. She froze, quickly calculating all the ways she could flee with her arm intact. "For the last time," Chase continued, "and before I decide to render your incessantly annoying being to ash, I said no! There will be no further discussion on the matter."

Wuya yanked her hand back, glaring at him coldly before defiantly stalking away. She was muttering a mixture of colorful curses and shamefaced criticisms in the dimness of Chase's hall, when a derisive snort echoed nearby.

"You are _so _desperate."

Without batting an eye, Wuya shot an arm out to her left, making contact with something soft and pliable. Immediately, there was an earsplitting shriek, as well as a feeble attempt to loosen her hold. Both were ignored.

"What was that?" Wuya intoned, dragging the squirming, pale-faced boy into the flickering torchlight.

"Wuya," Jack wailed, his tears streaming with runny eyeliner. "Let go of my abs! You know how sensitive they are!"

"Abs?" she scoffed, shoving him backwards. "I think you mean flab. You need to work out, you sniveling baby."

"I tire easily," Jack blubbered, wobbling unsteadily to his feet. "But…" He shot a look over his shoulder before asking in a loud whisper, "Why is Chase in such a bad mood?"

Wuya pivoted away from him, walking toward the cavern's opening. "I made him an offer, one that anyone would've gladly accepted," she sniffed. "One that is beyond a weak child like you."

Jack gasped, speeding up to gape at her face. "You asked him _out_? Oh my _god_! And he reje-"

There was another earsplitting shriek, one that carried over to Chase's throne room and made him rub at his temples in distaste.

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